


Yellow Dress

by Blackwidow1984



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Childhood, Clint Needs a Hug, Gen, Mention of Domestic Violence, Mention of abuse, Murder, but not clint so don't worry, clint goes through alot, like majore angst, mention of Barney Barton - Freeform, someone give clint a hug, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 14:29:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13572504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackwidow1984/pseuds/Blackwidow1984
Summary: A short story about Clint and a yellow dress. Set during his childhood. Give it a read, and please kudos/comment <3





	Yellow Dress

**Author's Note:**

> This character does not belong to me, but if only because then he would already have a movie and a tv series devoted to him. :(  
> Enjoy xx

The pigments of yellow, so bright and new. Like he’d never seen them before, but that wasn’t true. They were different, but he’d seen them before. The different shades of yellow were a stark contrast to the dark and stained red.

A soft yellow, a warming color that if it were made out of sunlight it could bring warmth to a body. The yellow dress now only drew the cold, weeping tears and screams of pain. It was so very delicate but then it was torn, bloodied and taken from life’s grasp. The light, the warmth, was taken and was replaced with anger and violence.

-

Clint sat on the steps of the old wooden steps, bright red and blue lights contrasted the black night sky and chatter lit the space around him. He couldn’t remember how he got suddenly there. Clint kept staring at his bare feet, never looking up to see any of the uniformed persons walk past him. He was stuck staring at a weed that had grown from the dry dirt that made the decent sized pathway from the fence to the house.

Around the path were scattered areas of grass, the patches few inches high and they were mainly yellow at the tips. The fence which was around seven meters away was rusting away and the gate squeaked every so often a person entered or exited through it. The clanging sound echoed in Clint’s ears, they were faint enough for him to not notice it but they were there. The footsteps coming and going put him on edge, but he didn’t...couldn’t leave his home no matter how broken it was.

His mind kept recounting the moment, but all he wanted to do was erase it from his memory, for it to be burned from his brain. He remembers the pigments on the floor, washed in with the red but he remembers. The white floor under the dress which he cleaned that day dirtied with pools of scarlet. Clint stood in the door frame directly in front of the dress, he couldn’t move, like gravity held his feet down to that spot.

In his little hands, a scruffy and mangled teddy bear which his mother had made for him fell to the ground. Clint, still sitting on the steps couldn’t remember anything apart from the yellow dress, the color red and feeling cold. He didn’t know why he felt cold, there was no cool wind but his skin crawled with short bursts of coldness like and his body had slowly fallen into shivering.

His arms were around his body in a cocoon to savor warmth but it the bitter freeze did not alleviate. Clint wanted to run. To run away from the stained image of the yellow dress, from the bruised prints left on his skin from his father. He wanted to run away with his brother...Barney. Barney. He wasn’t there, he ran off after their father had let his anger overcome all of his senses.

Barney ran...and left him, Clint began panicking, his brother wasn’t there to make sure he was alright. Barney promised Clint he would never leave him alone, but there Clint sat, on the steps to his house alone. Suddenly he felt a small pressure placed on his shoulder and instantly flinched at the touch. He reminded himself of the steps Barney told him to follow when he was in a situation that made him feel unsafe.

**1\. Look around your surroundings.**

Clint lifted his head and surveyed the area around him, the stingy fence was highlighted by bright lights from several cars. The cars faced the house with their lights shone upon the house, his eyes stung when he looked at the headlights to long. Instead he focused his attention to the hand of his shoulder, it felt warm against his t-shirt, the grasp wasn’t rough or made out of anger but comfort.

Gently squeezing his shoulder softly, it was a feeling unfamiliar to Clint. After he clarified in his hand that the hand was a non-threat he tried to relax. But his body wouldn’t climb down from the edge.

**2\. Assess exits or safety points in which you can reach.**

The path towards the gate was clear, he could easily get to and open it quickly making his objective of getting out of there more likely. On the other side of fence was the main road made out of sharp rocks and uneven ground, next to the road opposite the house was a large field of green and luscious grass.

Clint and Barney would often run around on the grass but would usually be ran off it by the farmers who were using it to grow grain. Clint could easily run through the field which lead to a large forest and if he kept going through it he would reach town soon enough. Clint was determined he could get out of there, he needed to run away from what was happening, his body and brain knew that. But he still couldn’t understand why.

The person who had their hand on Clint’s shoulder spoke, but he could barely hear them. It sounded like muffled nonsense to him, ever since his father had used him as a punching bag to release his anger he couldn’t hear very well. His mother had tried to take him to the hospital but their father wouldn’t allow it. So Clint did what he was taught to do, deal with it.

He turned his head to see where the voice was coming from, a lady, somewhere between 30’s and 40’s of age with her dark hair pulled away from her fully revealing her full face. She had a badge on her left side of the chest that read ‘Collins’. The lady had a kind face with a sad smile, something he’d seen on his mother’s face when she came to find Clint hiding in a wardrobe.

His mother would sit next to him in the the tight space and wrap her hands around him to hold him closer. Clint felt safe in her delicate arms and it made everything, just for a moment, feel brighter. This lady ‘Collins’ furrowed her brows in slight confusion, she was searching for any response from Clint but found none.

She spoke again, but this time Clint focused on her lips, watching intently which he had to learn to do since he couldn’t hear clearly. He could decipher it quite quickly, his brother would be proud of how good he was becoming at it. He slowly pieced together the sentence that she spurted out.

_Your mother has passed away, I’m so very sorry. Do you understand what I’m saying?_

Clint shook his head in utter confusion, a breath hitched in his throat. The muffled echo of her voice repeated over and over in his ears, so very faint but so very certain. He couldn’t....wouldn’t believe it. He shut his eyes closed desperate for an escape but the words filtered his head, he couldn’t run away from it...but he could try.

**3\. Run towards it your exit or safety point.**

Within a single movement Clint leaped from his sitting spot with his hands still covering his ears and ran vigorously towards the gate. Unclenching one of his hands from his ear to roughly open the gate, he made way across of the course road.

_Your mother...._

He reached the grassy fields and once set foot on the smooth ground he felt a new spirit take hold as he effortlessly bounded through the field. He never looked back, ever, and he planned to never look back ever again. The lights from the house and cars illuminated the path he would take, no longer he would stay hidden in the dark.

_Has passed away....._

He couldn’t face what life he had, nor the suffering that life had caused. The bruises and broken bones, broken plates and cuts made from the pieces. The smashed vase that spilled onto the ground or the droplets of blood that decorated the floor. He dropped his hand from his ear, falling the murmur of the ladies voice that tortured his hearing. He kept running.

_I’m so sorry._

**‘Sorry can’t bring my mom back!’**

He bit his lip causing blood to escape, it slowly flowed down his chin and dropped onto his t-shirt. He wiped the blood from his his chin with the back of his hand before he noticed something. Pigments of red died his skin, something he’d hadn’t noticed it before then. He slowed his legs down, almost tumbling over his own feet as he kept his focus on his hand. Clint raised his other hand an noticed similar pigments on it as well.

_Do you understand what i’m saying?_

It all came flooding back like a wave that was meant to drown him. His heavy breathing from running and exhaustion made it harder for Clint to regain focus. The red....was blood. But he wasn’t wounded, he had no deep lacerations or cuts on his body.

He wasn’t hurt, then why was their blood on his hands? He looked past his hands to his feet which were also cascaded in a darker stain, but they were also covered in grass and dirt. A thumping sound rang in his head, hitting harder like a hammer to a nail. Relentless and jarring, it jostled Clint’s thoughts around and became harder and harder to focus on one thing.

_Do you understand what i’m saying?_

He saw flashes of yellow mixed with red, the two colors clashed together in a messy artwork. The yellow was recognizable though, like it was embedded deep within Clint. The yellow that comforted him and held him tight and was afraid to let go. But the red, so fiery and angry and filled with pain that felt like it was burning Clint’s skin and staining him like paint. Like blood.

The ydress that was bought as a gift from two brothers for their mother, that was treasured by the woman and she would wear it so often it began to tear. She had quick and resourceful hands that would heal the broken bits of the dress, she loved the dress.

Like she loved the two brothers. She wore it in hopes of brightening the day and making the nights seem less hopeless, it never did but it reminded her that there was love in the world. That there was a world without pained tears, or the need for bandages to heal the wounds. To be free from the restraints of violence and fear, to feel a breathe fresh of air of a new summers day. To feel safe and loved.

_Do you understand what i’m saying?_

That yellow dress belonged to a woman who had felt pain more than she had felt life. The crack of a bone or the pressure of fingers around her neck surrounded her existence, and there was no way to run from that. Not now. She was a woman who was kind by nature, soft eyes and smooth face that the younger brother used to hold in his small fingers.

When the younger brother was just a baby, his goofy and cheeky expressions made her laugh and smile down of the small child that was her own. The baby would try to grab at her dusty blonde hair that fell over her shoulders, boundless fun for a wondrous being that found everything interesting and amazing. The clear echoes of her laugh erupted inside Clint’s head, he stood in the empty field at a loss.

_The yellow dress....was his mothers._

_The blood...was his mothers._

_Do you understand what i’m saying?_

The flowing pool of blood that trickled out from her body and onto the white tiled floor filling the grooves in between each tile and spreading around her. The yellow dress, torn and crumpled, lay a waste in the middle. It was molded around a fair skinned figure, her dusty blonde locks matted with the red matter. She laid so perfectly still like a painting, a mass of red around the cavity of her chest.

Growing darker in shade when reaching the center point, something sharp and deep had hacked into her skin leaving the mess that was laid in the small kitchen. Her eyes were locked up at the ceiling as if they were waiting to for something to enter from above. An angel perhaps. But standing next to her was the devil, he stood tall in black clothes. His hands painted in blood and his fingers...so

_Yes, I understand._

Clint remembered so vividly, all the images coming together to create a horrid piece. Before, he couldn’t see a face just blotches of color, but it was so clear as if he was there in that moment looking at her. He remembered her hands earlier that day entwined with his, holding them in comfort. But all Clint wanted to do was wipe them away, wipe the stains and memories.

He couldn't go back to the place that was supposedly ‘home’, he couldn’t face the fact he had lost his light in this world. But he wanted his brother, his dear brother who had been rough on him but only as a way of protection and self defense. Clint needed him, to guide him to a place of peace, because he couldn’t find any there.

His legs wavered under him, he tried to stumble closer towards the forest but tripped over his own feet. Clint tumbled to the ground in a heap, smacking his face on the grass. He laid there silently, his fingers moved to take grasp of the grass. Strands of green were bunched up in his hand, with half of his face planted on the brown dirt.

It strangely felt comfortable, to be so consumed by something tangible and to grasp at something that was so...innocent and light. He starred at the streamers of green that stuck to his hands, it was real but it didn’t feel like it. Clint’s hand soon became numb from not moving for several minutes as he laid there, he felt like he was losing grip.

Losing the sensation of existence, of his reality, it had been sucked from him. Clint lied there lucid, the grass slowly morphed color from green to yellow. Them into thin shreds of fabric with small spots of red, he was holding parts of the dress in his hand.

He felt the course fabric in his fingers, so rough to touch and in parts it was wet in a sticky liquid. The foul stench filled his senses and he seemed to come at a loss of what was reality and what was fantasy. He knew the fabric couldn’t be there nor the smell but the lie was still fed into his brain. His eyes grew heavy and harder to keep open as times passed, he wanted to sleep. To go to a place where there was no yellow dress or blood, to find a perfect place, but what were perfect places anyway without his mother there.

Before succumbing to the unknown he felt a small pressure to his shoulder, with a final glance he moved his eyes to see the lady...’Collins’ next to him. She was crouching in the grass, and then she placed her hand on his grass stained hand and gently squeezed it tightly. A frantic expression on her face softened to relief then to a small smile.

Clint wanted to keep running, but he couldn’t outrun the memory of his mother and her yellow dress that was still reeling over in his head. His eyes closed slowly, collapsing into the darkness that flowed around him. The last moments beforehand he felt his body being lifted from the ground, and arms encasing him. Holding him tenderly, and a fresh wave of warmth hit him.

He was being carried away, carried to a place that may not be perfect but a place that would let him heal.


End file.
